


Dance

by pterodactyldrops



Series: good as new [2]
Category: Fallout 4
Genre: Bad Pick Up Lines, F/M, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-06
Updated: 2016-01-06
Packaged: 2018-05-12 03:39:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 732
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5651194
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pterodactyldrops/pseuds/pterodactyldrops
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This was a bad idea. A really bad idea. A stupid idea. The sort of idea that only comes to you after having one drink too many. The kind that, when you wake up the next morning, you think oh-god-that-was-a-really-stupid idea-why-did-I do-that.</p>
<p>I don’t dance, MacCready heard Molly say. He heard her say that. To half a dozen people. Loudly.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dance

This was a bad idea. A really bad idea. A _stupid_ idea. The sort of idea that only comes to you after having one drink too many. The kind that, when you wake up the next morning, you think oh-god-that-was-a-really-stupid idea-why-did-I do-that.

_I don’t dance_ , MacCready heard Molly say. He _heard_ her say that. To half a dozen people. Loudly.

MacCready swills the amber liquid in his dirty glass. There’s chatter in the Dugout Inn—it’s full tonight. A jukebox plays in one corner. And he shouldn’t go through with this dumbass idea.

He slides off of the bar stool.

Believe it or not, MacCready does try to avoid doing stupid shit. Really. Honest.

His feet feel heavy as he walks. A step for every breath. But he feels like he’s falling towards her, moving too quickly, even though he hasn’t had _that_ many drinks, and soon—way too soon, before he can back out like he should—he’s standing in front of her. He’s standing in front of Molly.

She tilts her head at him.

MacCready wipes his hands on his pants. Are his palms wet from the glass he was cradling or because he’s so damn nervous that he’s sweating? _Actually_ sweating. He better not be blushing too. Otherwise he will. Never. Hear. The End. Of It. _Ever_.

MacCready can see it now—

Oh, hey, MacCready, how’s it going over there by your lonesome?

Just fine.

Hey, remember that time you asked the boss to dance? Remember how disastrous that was?

I’d rather not, thanks.

It was _hi_ -larious. Your face turned red as a Tato.

God _damn_ , this was a shitty idea.

“Hey, partner,” Molly says, nodding at him.

MacCready grins, all lopsided, a silly smile that he didn’t know he could still make on his face. And he relaxes. She looks amazing to him. Faded flannel shirt, too-long jeans rolled up past her ankles, a pair of dirty tennis shoes on. She leans against the jukebox, drink tipped in one hand, and she looks so _normal_.

She looks more like Molly—the woman who tells awful jokes, uses a shotgun ‘cause her aim is so crappy, and could kick his ass. She doesn’t look like the boss—the woman who’ll jump on top of a Super Mutant four times her size, will travel for days without resting, and could still kick his ass.

“What dragged you all the way over here?” she asks him.

“Uh, you know,” MacCready says, adopting his familiar, cocky tone. “You looked bored.”

“Oh yeah?” Molly asks. She lets her head rest back against the wall as her fingers play with the glass in her hands. “Didn’t think I could find something to amuse me in a place as mundane as this?”

MacCready leans his shoulder against the same wall. “Nope.”

She snorts and turns her head to look at him. “I think it’s a nice change of pace. But…”

“But it’s boring?”

“But it’s boring,” Molly agrees. She twists her drink in her hand, examining the liquid. “You know what’d make it less boring?”

MacCready rolls his eyes. “Don’t say a gun fight.”

“Not a gun fight,” Molly says. Her fingers tighten against the glass, and MacCready sees her take a deep breath. She raises the glass and knocks back the alcohol left in it. Her nose wrinkles, but she doesn’t choke and sputter like she used to.

“What did you have in mind?” MacCready asks her.

Molly wipes her mouth on the back of her palm and holds her hand out to him. There’s a red streak on it from her lipstick. MacCready frowns at her. “What?”

“Would you hold onto this?” she asks, nodding to her hand, “While I head for the dance floor?”

It takes a beat for him to realize what she’s asking, and then he’s shaking his head at her. “ _Really_ , boss?”

“Well?” She smirks up at him. Her face looks flushed. Probably from the alcohol. “Thoughts?”

MacCready can’t help laughing. “What the hell was in that shi— _stuff_ you drank?”

“Liquor. Of some sort.” She twiddles her fingers at him. “So whaddya say, partner?”

It’s a dumb idea. Stupid idea, really. He’ll probably regret it in the morning. Probably. Maybe.

“Sure,” he says, clasping her hand in his. He looks at them, fingers all entwined already. Their hands are the same size. “Sure, Molly, we can dance.”

**Author's Note:**

> Moar fluff. Because I am a sad sap stuck in shipping hell.


End file.
